


there's a wall around your body

by myladybrienne



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, POV, Slow Burn, post s8e2, written sort of in the style of the books
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-27
Updated: 2019-05-03
Packaged: 2020-02-07 12:20:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 16
Words: 20,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18620512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myladybrienne/pseuds/myladybrienne
Summary: brienne pays a lot of attention to jaime. it started as a habit when he was her captive: to learn his weaknesses and understand him better. now it's just habit.--written sort of in the style of the books bc i like trying to write romance in grrm-style bc he's so platonic lmao. i listen to music literally the entire time i'm writing so if u guys think lyric presets for each chapter would be cute, then let me know. also MULTICHAPTER WHAT OMG





	1. i see you picking it apart, want it to end before it starts

“I wonder why he is so determined to hide his misery,” she pondered to the empty chambers she had been offered. “Nobody believes his tall tales and he has nobody to impress, not these days. What are his motives?”   
  
“Ser Brienne, are you ready to leave?” her squire asked, head appearing in the doorway. “Her Majesty thinks we ought to leave as soon as possible.”   
  
Of the faces that remained, she had grown to recognise them all.   
  
The Mormont boys barely tall enough to bear arms, the Dothraki who still turned up their noses at Northern tradition, the Unsullied with their anxious temperaments, and Jaime Lannister: the saviour of them all.   
  
Why, she wondered. _If he knew his honour had been restored, why hide away in solitude?_ As she mounted her steed, she saw him not far off and approached, observing the tattered cloak he had worn every day since his arrival.   
  
“Ser Brienne, to what do I owe the pleasure?” asked the Lannister lord. At his side, Bronn joked coarsely about a ride of another and more comfortable sort.   
  
_He keeps such dreadful company_. As Brienne turned to summon Podrick, she caught sight of a young maiden gazing in Ser Jaime’s direction. _A new face,_ she observed, though the girl hurried away as Jaime’s gaze followed her own. She did not worry herself with the maid, no doubt she would re-emerge. She was one among many seeking Ser Jaime’s favours now; perhaps she was of no significance at all.  
  
Brienne rode close by him, south towards Goldgrass where they would rest for the night and gather more men, Gods willing. It was when they stopped for luncheon that she saw the dainty red-headed maid approach him. _More than a faceless admirer, then.  
  
_ “In the name of the mother, I command you to defend the innocent,” Jaime had spoken those words, when he knighted her in the firelight of Winterfell. Did he really have such high hopes for her? The girl seemed enthusiastic enough and yet Ser Jaime was more interested in his porridge. _Beyond even the carnal desires, what is on his mind?_ Ser Jaime had been different since the battle, everyone had, and she was far too curious to let things lie. Something was weighing on him.   
  
Brienne had made a habit of observing the things Ser Jaime did. If he didn’t drink at supper, or if he rode slower than usual, she noticed. She had been taking logs ever since their journey to King’s Landing began, at first, to use against him, now simply out of curiosity.   
  
Before long they were back on the King’s Road, headed south. His steed was a cheap bit, strong as need be but nothing more than a cast off from the Stark stables. There was nothing normal about their company. Unsullied men marched without tiring. Dothraki rode stallions born a thousand leagues from here. Young Arya Stark cantered ahead on a mare she had stolen along the way, and after her followed the Wildlings who found themselves seeking approval from only the bravest among these Southern folk. She listened to Podrick’s chatter without enthusiasm. He spoke on. “Ser Jaime’s the most eligible bachelor in the Seven Kingdoms again,” he stated boldly, “yet his intentions seem set on no woman determined to court him.”   
  


The forest around them had started to thicken. The snow-topped branches of the North were fading into the distance as they rode further, beyond the reach of winter and its assorted foes. Every movement gave way to a new crunch of dead leaves under horseshoe. The sound was almost unfamiliar after so long spent in the barren lands of ice, all that felt familiar now was the bay mare she rode and the squire at her side: her constant companions, courtesy of Ser Jaime Lannister.  
  
 _His generosity was almost incomparable to the man he had once been, The man who had given her a sword, and an oath to keep, was nothing but a shadow of the man she knew now._ Nevertheless, she knew he was worthy of her trust. She had seen his struggles and heard his words, and no man risked as much for the sake of the upper hand. Arya and Sansa Stark, leading an army to fight Cersei Lannister, was all Brienne could have hoped for.   
  
At dusk, they rode into Goldengrass and found refuge in the inns there, and in the houses of the folk that remained. Of course, Brienne would take no room. She set up camp near the hold’s gates and sent Podrick to sup with the other men.   
  
“I brought enough for two, ser,” a familiar voice offered in the dark.   
  
It was not the first time she had supped by firelight with Jaime Lannister. She set Oathkeeper on the floor beside her and reached graciously for one of the bowls he had so delicately balanced against his chest.   
  
“I thank you, Ser Jaime.”   
  
The knight laughed at her timidly and stooped to sit beside her.   
“Really, Brienne, are we not yet beyond titles?” he asked, looking at her as though hopefully.   
  
_His attempts to lower my guard are relentless, though at this point, harmless.  
  
_ Had circumstances been different, she might have fallen for his charms; but she was wise, and he was nothing but a knight. _Bold_ was the word most used, she preferred _rude,_ or simply just _a bastard._ Snide remarks and cruel words were not unfamiliar to her, but she had never been so flattered by the appeasement that followed.   
  
“Jaime,” she said, “have you not noticed the dozens of maidens vying for your attention? They are far more worthy than I of your generosity, are they not?”   
  
The knight looked a little hurt if such an expression ever graced him. “I choose the ladies I bestow my generosity upon with great care. Do I offend you with my presence?”   
  
“Certainly not, your motives only persist in bewildering me, Ser,” she answered truthfully. “Come, we have known each other long. Is the time for façade not yet over?”   
  
He frowned and met her gaze with confusion. Jaime still struggled to understand her. “In this light, she could almost be a beauty,” he had once though, “in this light, she could almost be a knight.” _The only façade still in place was hers,_ he thought.   
  
“No façade, Ser Brienne. You are both a knight – in which case it is only customary for us to sup together – and a lady – in which case I may court you as all knights court the women they are trying to charm.”   
  


If more honest words had left Jaime Lannister’s mouth, she struggled to recall them. He spoke complete nonsense, she was sure, but he was ever so convincing in doing so. Ser Jaime Lannister had chosen to keep her company and there was little she could do about it, except take the opportunity to continue her research. He itched at his stump nervously as he spoke to her, something which she had only ever observed in reference to herself, and she wondered what it could possibly mean.   
  
He was fast approaching forty and she wondered why he had yet to take a wife. Of course, there was Cersei, but he had left her now and the time was come to produce a Lannister heir. Brienne often wondered if he wasn’t like her, largely disinterested in the politics of family and better equipped for the battlefield than the marital bed. _Bachelors are no rarity in Westeros, but a bachelor at the end of his family line might be considered a problem.  
_  
“Ser Jaime, do you not fear marching on King’s Landing?” she asked. “I know you cut ties from Lady Cersei, but meeting on the battlefield, men you once considered brothers is… well I imagine it to be rather gut-wrenching.” Taking a bite of stew, Brienne glanced toward him before swallowing thickly at her crassness. By the time she cleared her throat to apologise, he set his empty bowl on the grass beside him and set his hand upon her knee.   
  
‘’Do not censor yourself for me, Brienne,” Jaime told her, as he mulled over her question thoughtfully. “I am not afraid to kill the men who would gladly kill me first. They loved me while they were paid to, while I was useful, and now that time is passed. True loyalty isn’t in oaths and promises and family names, it’s in the people you’d willingly die for, if there was nothing at all to gain.”   
  
Brienne blinked at him sharply and wondered whether he intended to tighten his grip on her leg as he spoke. “I am pleased Cersei’s betrayal has offered you a lesson, if nothing more.”   
  
“I assure you, it offered me far more than that.”   
  
She drained the last of the stew from her bowl and set it down. “Could you really kill her, if it came to it?”   
  
“If it came to it, I could do anything to protect the people I most highly regard.”   
  
_His loyalties lie elsewhere now,_ she acknowledged, _but with whom?_ Lord Tyrion remained his brother’s greatest priority, and he had some affection for Bronn these days. But with no maiden to protect, and no children to defend, what kept him so determined?   
  
Podrick returned with a steaming bowl of stew in hand, surprised to see Ser Jaime at their camp.   
  
“I’ll leave you to your evening, Ser Brienne, Podrick,” Jaime finished, excusing himself and heading back towards the distant light of their armies.   
  
“I brought you some stew, Ser,” Podrick offered.   
  
She shook her head and moved away to watch the horizon and guard their _ever-so-temporary_ home. _What did he envision for life after the war?_  
  
  



	2. be the only living thing i care about

  
Ser Jaime Lannister, in battered armour and blood-stained clothes, watched as the sun rose and the world came to life once more.   
  
At dawn, the town of Goldgrass began to buzz with life. The first light spilled over the dusty ground, warming the air and their backs as they stood and waited for another day’s march to start. Out of the inn’s window, he gazed at the strangers he had come to know in these past weeks and wondered where life would take them, once the war was ended. The shadows of their old lives were faded and unreachable now, as the last memories of life _before_ had died in Winterfell along with so many of their kin.   
  
Ser Bronn of the Blackwater stood beside him, cock swinging between his legs as he drew his pants up casually.   
  
“Somethin’ on your mind, Ser? I heard you tossing and turning like a fine-looking ghoul was having her way with you,” Ser Bronn joked. “Are you rested enough for a full day’s ride?”   
  
“I’ll survive, Bronn,” said Jaime.   
  
“Certainly you will,” Bronn reasoned. “But what keeps you up at night, Ser?”   
  
“The future, Bronn.” _You have nothing to fear_ , Jaime thought. _I do. You may die without land or legacy, but I may die and leave behind my greatest love._ “Do you ever think about after the war is won?”   
  
“Certainly, M’Lord,” said Bronn. “I think of the, in your own words, _much better_ girl and _much better_ castle, that you promised me.”   
  
Jaime remembered the deal he had struck with Bronn. He wondered what would really make Bronn happy, if a man with such ambition could ever be fulfilled. He shifted his weight, from the right to the left and then back again. He liked the feeling of _home,_ he missed it, and all he asked from this God-forsaken war was to get that feeling back. He had more desire for that than any woman or any castle in the Seven Kingdoms.   
  
“You will get what you were promised, Bronn,” he told his swordsman. “There are far greater prizes to be won, and I expect yours will be easy to come by.” The bloodshed would be plentiful, and the need for hope would be great. In the form of children, Bronn could provide.   
  
Jaime had stayed in the window last night, watching her, barely more than a blip in the distance, to make sure that the fire burned on and the camp remained quiet. As he waited, he wondered whether she would settle down with someone, taking comfort in the knowledge that settling wasn’t within her remit.  
  
“What prizes are you bidding for, if I may be so curious, m’Lord?” Bronn enquired.  
  
“Perhaps nothing more than a quiet life, though nothing seems harder to come by these days.” When he caught sight of her, approaching the town, already fully armoured as she always seemed to be, he reached for his chestplate and began, with difficulty, to suit himself. “The day is begun, and we must ready ourselves.”  
  
“Certainly, M’Lord,” Bronn said.

 

Dressing had become nothing between them. They had seen far more of each other than two knights might ever admit. Jaime was unashamed, as was Bronn. Inside the inns of Westeros and the cabins of the Narrow Sea’s boats, they had come far closer to each other than was respectable. A little nudity was nothing between soldiers.   
  
“M’Lord, I was wondering if you might permit me to ride with some of the Northern ladies today? There’s one I’ve rather got my eye on and I thought I might take the ride as a chance to better acquaint myself,” Bronn requested.   
  
“As you wish. But find me at luncheon.”   
  
Jaime found his horse, readily tacked and hitched, outside the inn.   
  
He had grown fond of the mare, old as she was. Their relationship was one of trust, there was no push and shove like there had been with his other horses: she did the talking _and_ the walking.   
  
Across the cobbled street, he spotted Ser Brienne and her squire, tacking up. He recognised the gentleness Brienne had with the bay mare who had journeyed loyally for so long. Jaime had thought the horse might get her half as far as Winterfell once, and yet here she was, still standing.   
  
“Ser Jaime!” Podrick called out once he had spotted the lord. “Lord Tyrion has asked that I ride with him up front this morning, needs to discuss something with me apparently. Perhaps you and Ser Brienne could ride together for the morning?”   
  
The day was bright about them and he wouldn’t have noticed the shy smile on Brienne’s face if he hadn’t glanced at her at just the convenient moment. The squire had excused himself swiftly and left the pair alone, aside from the dozens of soldiers passing between them every few moments.   
  


Jaime mounted his horse and walked her across the cobbles to Brienne’s side.

 

“It wouldn’t be right to leave a lady on her own for such a long journey. I’ll join you, if you don’t object. We can talk of our adventures since we last truly spoke, I expect there is a lot to be said.”  
  
Wordlessly, she rose upon her horse and walked the mare slowly towards the gates, waiting for him to follow. Outside were leagues of Dothraki and Unsullied and Wildlings and Northmen, all gathered in the name of the living. So the Maid of Tarth and the Kingslayer joined them, and rode for King’s Landing.   
  
_He clings on to that halter like someone’s about to shove him off,_ she thought to herself. _Where did the fearlessness of the Kingslayer go?  
  
_ As they rode, Jaime talked. He spoke of the way he had pleaded with Cersei to keep her word, and of the long ride North. Jaime Lannister did not complain, but he certainly had no trouble boasting about the hardships he had endured. Even now, he liked to act like a thousand people hadn’t faced the same he had and more.   
  
Of all his tall tales, Brienne took to heart only one, the story of the fresh-meat whore he had tried to save from ruin. He had offered her refuge and travel North to warmth and food and safety. No woman would have accepted such an offer, and from a Lannister no less, but she believed that he had offered. Jaime Lannister, saving maidens and only maidens.   
  
“I have hurt so many, but there is something in the breaking of a woman that even a man as broken as me cannot abide.”   
  
So clean and tidy, Brienne almost forgot that this was the same man she had talked from the brink of surrender, the same broken man who had come so close to death. _Saving him changed everything,_ thought Brienne, who wondered what life would look like if she had let him die.   
  
Jaime had been so damaged then: weak and naïve and vulnerable. Nobody had seen him like that, perhaps Tyrion once or twice but nobody else. _He hides himself from everybody, even those he claims to love._  
  
She wondered where the golden-haired lion of a man who had been at the Dragon Pit was now. Had he ever really existed, or was he just an act? Though he had maintained his handsomeness, his golden hair had started to grey and there were scars littering his body head-to-toe.   
  
“Ser Jaime, I am pleased your honour has found you. Such suffering was unnecessary but the path to glory is long and winding,” Brienne said. “Death, sacrifice, suffering, all of it brought you here. A man with honour, a knight who saved lives and slew monsters that haunt the dreams of children. I am proud to know that man, and to have watched him borne from such hatred is an admirable journey.”  
  
“Is that what you believe, Ser Brienne? That I suffered so because I needed to learn how to be a good man?”   
  
The sound of people and horses around them had quietened and they realised that they had fallen to the back of the pack. Jaime’s eyes were locked on her, unwilling to let her escape his scrutiny until the question was answered. _He believes he deserved all of it._  
  
“I believe circumstance has made you the man that you are, but another circumstance might have produced a man just the same. Nobody _deserves_ what you have suffered, Ser Jaime, but few deserve to survive it and you are among them.”  
  
The lord returned his eyes to the road and suddenly trotted ahead. The journey ahead of them would be neither brief nor pleasant, and luncheon would be a pleasant respite.


	3. i never keep my promises but you're the one i'm breaking them for

They stopped for lunch just off the King’s Road, in the middle of nowhere, but this far South? It was safer than most towns. There were only Lannister men and witches now, everyone else rode North for the fight against the dead.   
  
“How was the ride, Ser Jaime?” Bronn asked with a smug look upon his face.   
  
“Far blander than yours it would seem, Bronn,” Jaime observed. His swordsman was a good fellow but he had the manners of a wildhog.  
  
The laugh that followed rose from Bronn’s ale-heavy gut and filled the air around them. The honourable men glared and the women blushed. It reminded Jaime of court in some remarkable way, and he wanted to flee from that sensation of being watched.   
  
“I assure you, Ser Jaime, nothing untoward occurred. Nothing that would get in the way of that life you’re so carefully constructing for me, anyway,” Bronn said. “Although, I’ll stay with her this afternoon if it’s all the same to you. I’m sure Lady Brienne kept you in good company.”   
  
Frustrated, his thoughts were cast toward Brienne of Tarth. _That Godforsaken woman couldn’t leave him alone._ At least Podrick ought to ride with them this afternoon, that would ease the tension. Other men might revel in the challenge of such an untameable beast of a woman but it did nothing but anger him to listen to the way she defied his every expectation.   
  
Podrick was still required by his bloody imp of a brother and so they continued their ride south just past high noon. The silence between might have sharpened their blades had they swung them about it in its atmosphere for long enough. _I am going to make you speak to me,_ thought Jaime, _if it’s the last thing I ever succeed in.  
  
_ “Ser Jaime, I really am capable of riding alone if you’d rather make the journey in the company of some of the younger Northern ladies,” Brienne offered graciously. _Why does he seem so disinterested in them now?_  
  


As the sun hung lower in the sky, he wondered if she had caught on to his little rouse _: how long until she stopped humouring him and started ignoring him altogether?_ Around them, he counted the girls that passed them, one by one: a fair-haired beauty of House Karstark, half a dozen Wildling women, Lyanna Mormont herself. A host of dainty maidens trotted past, giggling as they went, and he noticed the nervousness with which they rode.   
  
Each one in turn glanced at the handsome knight and giggled. They blushed if he caught their eye before hurrying ahead to whisper to their friends, chattering about the way he stayed so close at the side of the Tarth woman, brutish as she was.   
  
“Would you sup with me tonight, Brienne?” invited Jaime, sidling up close to her.   
  
“I expect we would be supping together whether I agreed or not. Finding refuge this close to the capital would be too great a risk,” she pointed out. He respected her pragmatism and hated it all the same. _Gods, wench, just let me be nice to you.  
  
_ “I’m taking that as a _yes,_ wench.”  
  
The horses around them slowed and Brienne realised that they had stopped to make camp for the night. The evening light cast shadows across her face and Jaime noticed the way the light lingered longest in the blue pools of her eyes.  
  
Jaime was the first of his horse, and he easily stepped around to offer a hand to Brienne as she dismounted. Glaring at him, she stepped down and dropped the halter into his open palm with a grin. _Chivalry ad nauseum.  
  
_ Podrick and Bronn emerged to take the two horses, and Brienne and Jaime headed towards the first log they saw and sat down. The moon stood sentry amongst the trees and Jaime wondered how many nights Brienne had spent under the cover of nothing but moonlight. _Too many,_ he thought.   
  
“Tyrion fears the sight of Cersei will trigger a betrayal in you,” uttered Brienne as though it meant nothing. “It’s nonsense, of course, but I thought you deserved to know that even your brother doubts you.”   
  
“Charming!” That offended him. “The little imp thinks I can’t be trusted when he has no loyalty to anything that isn’t a cunt or a coin purse.”   
  
Brienne’s blue eyes snapped up to stare him down with fury. _He’s still as crass as the day I met him,_ she noted.   
  
“I apologise, but I’m not wrong,” said Jaime. “If even _you_ won’t doubt the fact that I’m free of Cersei’s charms, enchanting as they may be, then how dare _he_ doubt me.”   
  
Brienne could sense the self-doubt. If her faith relied on him alone, it might have wavered, but she was more certain than anything that Cersei would trip up if she pleaded with her brother. Her cruelty would slip through just a _little_ too early and Jaime would be reminded of the fact that she wasn’t worthy of his loyalty, not ever but _especially_ not now.   
  
The bustle of the camp around them got louder as food was served and wine was poured. Men cheered and began their songs and Jaime wondered if the silence of normal life wouldn’t keep him up once he got back to it… _if_ he got back to it.   
  
“Tomorrow is your chance to prove yourself, Ser Jaime. We’ll be at the capital by noon, and we will fight them under the sun’s watchful gaze.”  
  
 _He is anxious with me lately,_ she thought. _Maybe he senses the weakness of his own resolve, perhaps he intends to desert us in our hour of need. I cannot believe in that, not when I believe in him._


	4. we're damaged just for the lost, you said

Dawn drove them south with great speed. They rode strategically towards the city: the Dothraki and the Northmen leading on their steeds, the Unsullied following close behind, and those to be kept out of the conflict – the children and the Queen and Tyrion – stayed half a mile behind them all.   
  
As they approached the capital, suddenly Jaime became aware of the very real danger that they were charging straight towards. The promises Daenerys had made were beginning to show cracks.   
  
Ser Brienne was visibly anxious. Her hands clung tightly to the reins of her mare and her eyes danced skittishly over the soldiers following closely behind her. Darkened spheres hung beneath her bright blue eyes and showcased the sleeplessness they had all come to know in the past weeks.   
  
The horses slowed and Jaime knew where they were. Half an hour North of the city and it was time to leave the King’s Road. They needed the cover of the trees and the surprise that came by the Gate of the Gods and the advantage that uneven ground would give them, and there was no point in pretending that in a fair fight, they didn’t have a chance in Seven Hells.

 

Ahead went a handful of Unsullied with Lady Arya and Sandor Clegane to infiltrate the city and kill as many as they could without the alarm being raised. It was about twenty minutes before Jaime noticed the archers lining the city’s walls and the cavalry began their charge.

 

“In the name of the Queen!” yelled Jaime. _A battle cry befitting of such an occasion_ , he thought.   
  
When they reached the gate, Brienne was almost knocked from her horse by the flailing body of an archer, shot down. She steadied herself and carried on as though nothing had happened. Jaime snatched his eyes away and rode hard, headed straight for the Red Keep where he knew he would find the only one he wished to kill today.   
  
_The faster she is killed, the faster this is over. She rules with fear, and her reign must be ended._ “Where are you, sister mine?”   
  
First, he killed Ser Balon. Then Ser Osmund. Then Ser Preston.   
  
The Red Keep stood quietly amongst the shouting and the screaming that drowned the city now. It remained a sanctuary.   
  
I have killed within these walls before and today, I must return to those memories for the good of Westeros.   
  
Overhead, Drogon flew, breath hot and murderous. _Inside,_ thought Jaime, _I will end this before the flames consume us all._  
  
His sister smiled proudly at the sight of Jaime stood at the throne room’s doors, blade bloodied, expression worn. But when the Mountain stormed towards him and drew his sword to him, she didn’t stop him.   
  
Jaime cast a heavy blow against Clegane’s chest plate and met his blundering strikes one by one until Cersei had tired of letting her pet play with his food.   
  
“Ser Gregor, leave us. Go and do some killing or raping or whatever it is that you like best,“ she commanded.   
  
Jaime couldn’t help but laugh at her confidence. _Nothing would drive him to kill his own twin,_ she had always believed that and it had always been true. A curiosity graced his sister’s face and she stood to observe the man he had become.   
  
“Are you going to bend the knee to the Queen, Cersei, or are you going to make me kill you?” asked Jaime.   
  
Cersei narrowed her eyes at him. “The only Queen you’ve ever known is me,” she said, “and a bitch with some lizards isn’t going to change that.”  
  
Ser Jaime didn’t wait to hear her pleas and promises. She didn’t even shout for help, though Ser Gregor surely would’ve come to help, late though he would have been. The steel sliced through her skin just like butter, and the elegant indifference she displayed in death was all too characteristic.   
  
He needed to announce her death. To stop the fighting. To end the war.   
  
First, he gave himself a moment to grieve for the woman he had dedicated his life to. She was cold and stoic in death, much as she had been in life. _Realising that your entire life, you have not known love but in fact only dependency is both the greatest disappointment and the greatest relief_ , he thought.   
  
Cersei was wearing a simple gown beneath the decorative and remarkably useless armour she donned. An emerald sat upon her bosom and the sharpness of the jewel had never been more befitting. Her crown slipped from her close-cut hair and clanged as it fell to the stone steps, he left her there in the growing pool of crimson and swallowed thickly the grief that threatened his resolve.   
  
“Cersei is dead!” shouted Jaime over the raucous of the courtyard. The speed with which the silence fell shocked him as swords clattered against the cobbled ground and men in all colours stood in a remarkable stillness.   
  
A Lannister man was the first to approach him, bending the knee to the man who had finished the war without end. The man tore his armour from his being with an enthusiasm reminiscent of Jaime’s own departure from the Kingsguard.   
  
The Queen and her company arrived on horseback. Queen Daenerys had a sullen look upon her face, as did the Ladies Arya and Sansa. His bitter glory felt short-lived under the coldness of their stares.   
  
“Lord Tyrion was targeted, Ser Jaime. The Ironborn blindsided us and Euron Greyjoy put a dagger straight through him.” _She is telling me my brother is dead._ “I am sorry, Ser Jaime, for your loss.”   
  
_No soldier can expect to die with friends_ , Jaime thought, _no less family_.   
  
Brienne appeared from nowhere and Jaime had never experienced such overwhelming relief. The cobbled streets of King’s Landing were drenched with the blood of Southerners and Northerners alike and among all of that destruction, he took great satisfaction in her still-standing form. He had wondered which he would lose first: Cersei or Tyrion or Brienne or the children. She was the only one left.   
  
“I presume you’ve been told, your Grace, but Cersei is dead, and her body lies in the throne room,” uttered Jaime. “Ser Gregor is among us still, I fear.”   
  
“Thank you, Ser Jaime, I will handle such matters. Rest a while, eat something, grieve your dead.” Daenerys commanded him to take care of himself and he hated to break an oath.

  
The streets of the capital seemed empty where once they had been drowning. Jaime Lannister rode to a tavern he had frequented in his younger years, halfway down Stag’s Alley. Brienne of Tarth trailed him loyally, and he wondered why her silence persisted. The battle was won and his sadness ought not extend to her.   
  
As he settled his mare outside, Jaime turned and noticed the sadness that Brienne failed to conceal. The Tarth woman had never been one to hide her feelings, so with just the two of them there, it felt only right to be sad in good company.   
  
“You aren’t pleased the war is won?” asked Jaime. “I expected you to be thrilled that life can finally go on as it once did.”   
  
“Podrick is dead, Tormund is dead, Sandor Clegane is dead.” _I am not the only one who has lost people._ “The war is won but it has taken its toll on us all.”   
  
The rest of the world would drink and be merry this night, and life would begin again. Some would grieve, those with hearts, but so few had such an unnecessary organ in these times. Brienne had never appeared more vulnerable than she did at the door of an abandoned tavern, drenched in the blood of men she might have fought beside in another life.   
  
Drinking was a risky business, Jaime knew from experience. Brienne had seen him in a stupor more than once, but the warmth of liquor was all he had to sooth his aching soul. _He drinks only when he is heartbroken_ , Brienne acknowledged. She wondered what it felt like: to kill the woman you have always loved, she would never ask him.   
  
“She didn’t even fight against me,” Jaime told her, “and I wonder if she’d be embarrassed… to have died with such ease. Her death was a joke, at least the Imp died honourably.”   
  
“She underestimated you.” Brienne watched as he poured himself some ale and gulped it down. He hadn’t been properly drunk since arriving at Winterfell, she’d been watching his habits. His brother had barely been sober, part of her wondered if the Hand of the Queen had died drunk.   
  
_He hates himself for hurting her,_ she thought. She had seen this look on his face before: when he told her the tale of the Mad King, when he admitted the truth of Myrcella’s death, when he regaled her with stories of King Robert’s viciousness.   
  
Jaime’s mind was elsewhere. Even in the dull light of the tavern, Brienne’s sapphire gaze forced him to keep faith. _Life would go on_ , he thought, _it was obliged to._ People die and the seasons change and the rest of us keep on living.   
  
“I wonder what my father would say,” pondered Jaime. “Tyrion Lannister: murdered his own mother, betrayed his own house, died in a war against his own sister. He would’ve been appalled…Tyrion would be proud of that.”   
  
By nightfall, Jaime was leaning heavily against a wooden bench and Brienne continued to watch carefully for any signs of collapse. His gaze was glassy, his hair knotted and dull, his face dirtied with the dust of battle. His stump rested at his side, a constant reminder of the man he once was.   
  
_He should rest,_ Brienne thought, considering Jaime’s heavy eyelids. _Only rest can heal a grief this wholly consuming._  
  
“Time for bed, Ser Jaime. It is past time you spent a night in a real bed. Upstairs I’m sure there is space enough for you.”   
  
“Will you stay close, Brienne? I shan’t sleep with you beyond my reach,” mumbled Jaime.   
  
Ser Brienne smiled weakly at him, offering him an arm and guiding him towards the stairs. She wondered what he would do now. No family, no oaths, nothing to tie him to any one place. The Lannister line was still his to continue and yet her observations kept her in the belief that children weren’t his priority. When order was restored, she would follow Lady Sansa and he would flee to Casterly Rock to wallow. _He wants for nothing but death now, I fear_. “Close enough, Ser Jaime.”


	5. i can't be there to make this unmade bed of roses

Jaime Lannister had entered the city with one intention: to end the war between the Starks and the Lannisters. He would leave with no war and no Lannisters left.

Brienne of Tarth watched him every second of the day after that. She worried that he would fall into the despair that had haunted him at Harrenhal. The survivors were trying to create lives for themselves and Jaime wasn’t doing anything at all. At breakfast, he would drink, and at supper, he would drink, and she began to forget what he was like when he was sober.

“Are you sure you need that, Ser Jaime?” she reasoned as he poured himself another cup of ale.

“Worried about me, wench?” teased Jaime.

“Perhaps. If I wasn’t, I’d be truly stupid.” He doesn’t care what happens anymore.

Arya was to be wed. Sansa would ride for Winterfell to reclaim her seat as Lady of the North. Daenerys had named Ser Jorah Mormont her hand. The Night King was dust on the Northern winds. Life was a stubborn old system.

She ate the finest meat she’d tasted in months and laughed at the merry songs of men who no longer feared for their lives, but her eyes lingered on Ser Jaime. He was sullen and half-starved, the only nutrients he allowed himself was ale. Fine armour gathered dust in the room he had claimed at the tavern, his sword never left the foot of the bed where he had set it down the day that he slew Cersei. There was nothing to fear when death was welcomed with open arms.

“I believe I will retire to my chambers,” he murmured to the man next to him, a fellow called Jacob from the Barrowlands.

Brienne let him go. She waited all of three minutes before she rose and excused herself. At the tavern that she now recognised as nothing more than the place where he could be found, she paused and wondered how they had come to this point.

The Valyrian steel that rested at her hip was a gentle reminder of the journey she had taken. Her armour held her in a comfortable embrace and she recalled her idle curiosity: how had he guessed her measurements so precisely?

“Ser Brienne, you should return to the feast.” He sat with his back to the door, attention focused on the barrels which had begun to empty themselves since the first day of his residence.

Jaime was accustomed to evenings spent alone; curled up in the lonesome dark, he would weep for the brother who deserved his grief and the sister who did not. He cried until his throat grew dry and his tears too salty to run smoothly down his cheeks. The soldier he had been was fragile now. _What would she think of you?_ He had asked himself more than once what judgment Brienne might bestow upon could she see his pitiful state. Luckily, she was blind to his weakness.

He smiled when it was expected of him, and he never got so drunk as to be honest with her. There were few things he cared for now, but her respect was amongst the few remaining points of value in the world.

“Ser Jaime, if I may. Do you regret your actions? Is that why your grief lingers so?” Brienne asked, eyes lowered to the ground.

The Northmen believed it, so did the Queen though she would never admit it. The whispers in the streets were getting louder every day and he was sick of hearing them lie. He was proud to have done it, his shame rested only in that it had taken him so long. But Tyrion was his only defender, and now no-one could protect the honour of the Kingslayer.

“My grief is not for her. It is for the life I might have had if I had been born alone. If I had grown up with a brother who was kind and clever, and if I had never become the Kingslayer, and if I had met you in another circumstance than ours.” Jaime hated how drink loosened his tongue but he was sick of lying. “I realised once she was dead that I never loved her, I merely needed her. I needed him too, and now I’ve lost them both in the very same day.”

The candlelight quivered as Brienne crossed the room and took a seat at his side. _She sits closer to me now_ , he noticed. Her knee almost bumped his. The distance between them had grown ever smaller.

“I cannot speak for Lady Cersei, but Lord Tyrion loved you and he believed that there was more in your future than this. He did not leave behind a drunkard brother with, he died for the great knight that he admired more than any other,” Brienne said. “You are the only living Lannister, and it is your responsibility to live.”

 _She calls her Lady Cersei_ , thought Jaime. _Ever the beacon of respect._

In the Throne Room, he had thought of Brienne and the strength she had seen in him. His resolve might have wavered if it hadn’t been for her voice in his head: _I know there is honour in you, Ser Jaime._

“And live I will: once the ale has run dry and the girls stop trying to dance with me. Casterly Rock is mine to claim. Her Majesty says I am welcome to it.”

Casterly Rock was a distant memory now. Its towers and its dungeons and its winding hallways had been a playground in his youth. Now, the mere thought of them felt imprisoning. The beauty of the Golden Gallery feels dusty and ridiculous when compared with the magnificence he had seen across the Seven Kingdoms. That fortress is no home, it is a cage in which the vilest of creatures are kept at bay.

In the street outside, the voices of men could be heard, heading home to wives and whores alike. Jaime wondered if he would ever head home to a woman again, the way he had raced home to that traitorous bitch he had called a sister.

“And will it make you happy, Ser Jaime, to return to the Rock?”

“It is my duty, and we knights live for duty,” he answered.

Brienne felt her heart clench in her chest. The emptiness that had consumed her through the years that followed Renly’s death had faded now and she despised the way it tore through Ser Jaime. _He will not find the beast of passion if he lingers at the forest’s edge forever,_ she thought.

For a time, she believed he would stay in this rut for the rest of his life. “We’re all clinging to each other in our grief and trying to rise back to reality,” Lady Sansa had said to her at the burial of Theon Greyjoy. _I am enabling him_ , Brienne thought, _and he leans on me in his wallowing, so to make him fall, I must make a move._

“Lady Sansa, I must ask of you a great favour.” 


	6. and she never wanted to leave

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> T- 54 MINUTES UNTIL 8X3 AND I AM NERVOUS AF this may be the last canon-compliant chapter of braime i ever get to write and Oh My Lord.

“I release you from your vow and bid you well on your journey home. Give Lord Selwyn my regards,” said Sansa with a gentle smile.

“I thank you, Lady Sansa,” Brienne said. In spite of her loyalties to the Stark girls, she knew there was another who needed her more. She wanted passion and action and excitement; being bound to a member of the Queen’s counsel would earn her very little of those things. She desired thrills that only she could seek out. To Sansa, she went on: “I hope I have served you well, my lady, as your mother would’ve wanted.”

The sun rose high over King’s Landing and it was hard to believe that the winter raged on with such determination in the North. The snow had crept into the city’s walls each night but had melted under the day’s golden warmth. In the not too distant future, she would bask once more in the sunlight of Tarth and let the Sapphire waves crash against her bare skin.

To make her journey, she employed only one other: a Wildling boy who reminded her somehow of Podrick. At Durran’s Point, she would send him back. The boy was taken only as a courtesy with both Cersei and the undead gone, there was nothing to keep her up at night.

“Have you told your friends of your plans yet, Ser Brienne?” asked Sansa, eyes traipsing over the courtyard of the Red Keep from the high windows of her chambers.

“I have few of those left, milady,” admitted Brienne. “As long as you and your sister are safe, and the Queen approves, then all is well.”

Vivid blue eyes bore into her harshly and she wondered where the young girl she had found in the forests at the feet of the Mountains of the Moon was. How quickly she had grown. What a fine woman she had become.

“And what of Ser Jaime? You spoke for his honour when he was at risk of death, and you have watched his back since the day Cersei died. What will he do with you gone back to Tarth?” asked Sansa with a glint in her eye.

Brienne had struggled with the worry of what he might do. His hair would go unshorn, his beard unshaven, his body unwashed. Until he woke from his stupor and carried on living. Ser Jaime Lannister would not fall apart at her departure, but it might be enough to wake him up if the Gods were on her side.

“He will sober up and return to the Rock, find himself a charming wife and produce a Lannister heir. For weeks, he’s said that is his plan, perhaps he’ll stick to the plan.” Inwardly, Brienne laughed. The charming knight had never stuck to a plan in all his life, and it had served him well. He would find some new lease of life, she had to believe that.

The city was busy with commonfolk all day. Life was beginning to return to its old self. There was an abundance of sellswords around the city, looking for work in this newfound peace. Women were whoring themselves or flirting with champions of the war in the hope of a more proper proposal. Children were playing in the streets as though the war was a distant memory to them already. Tradesmen were opening up shop, hunters were returning with food to sell, and the entertainers were on the street once more, singing for coppers.

Jaime walked among them like a stranger. His head was clouded and their joy seemed to blur around him in a frenzy. His shirt sleeve flapped in the breeze, pissing him off to no end. _Fucking stump_ , he thought, _maybe rotting to death would’ve been simpler._

“Ser Jaime!” His head turned dutifully towards the familiar voice. When will she tire of me?

“Brienne,” greeted Jaime. “Have you not got Starks to attend to and children to spar with?”

Compared to the cruelty of Jaime’s typical insults, the tease was rather pitiful, and concerning in a way. Nobody took his words to heart these days, and he knew it, but still the game persisted. So Brienne blushed when he called her wench and dazzled him with her ever-growing collection of retorts.

“Tomorrow I leave for Tarth,” she stated. “Lady Sansa has released me from my vow, and now more than ever, my father needs an heir. I return to fulfil my duty, the one I was born to.”

 _She can’t be serious,_ thought Jaime. After the life she has led. To return home and wed a brute of a man just for the sake of a child. He stared at her as though to call her bluff and was met only with unwavering sincerity. His mind had cleared rather too quickly and his head was beginning to spin, but he remained steady and simply bawked at her.

“You think leading the Battle Between Queens will make you more marriageable? Any man would run a hundred miles for fear of meeting your sword’s edge, Brienne!”

Brienne rolled her eyes at him and wondered if he truly meant the things he said. His legs wobbled beneath his own uncertain weight and she made for a bench nearby, arm outstretched discretely in preparation of his fall. Alas, he made it to the bench and flopped down graciously onto it.

“Tease all you wish, Ser Jaime. My father found me suitors before I was a knight, I’m sure the title won’t deter him.” _That bloody knighthood,_ Jaime thought, _I should have left her as a lady and she wouldn’t desert me quite so quickly._

Whenever Jaime looked at the beastly wench for too long, he found himself admiring the hints of beauty she concealed. Her dazzling eyes, that sweet though broken smile, her cheeks looked ever so becoming when she blushed. _All maidens look fine in silk_. He’d once believed her the exception to prove the rule, but perhaps not. The world was full of mediocre women, that was a simple fact. Brienne of Tarth had never been a mediocre woman.

“I thought you deserved to know, Ser Jaime, but if you’ve nothing to say, I’ll bid you goodday,” said Brienne.

Jaime would’ve smacked himself if he was still in possession of his right hand. Lucky for his face, he was not. 


	7. i'll love the world like i should

The morning was bitterly cold, though nothing compared to the unavoidable chill of the North. A brisk wind left Brienne with a deadening enthusiasm to ride east.  The Wildling boy was Karig of Skirling Pass. A day’s ride would be made easier by knowing the boy’s name, if nothing else. A part of her despised him, though his only sin was reminding her of one she had lost.  
  
 _The weather will slow us with each stride,_ she told herself. It was time to leave. Before the sun rose and the people woke and anybody – though most notably, somebody – tried to stop her. The armour she donned was well-worn now and her sword had struck more of the dead than of the living. Leaving Westeros might give her a moment to forget the things she had seen and done in this war.   
  
“Running away, Ser Brienne?” Her head snapped around to the voice and she was surprised to see the younger of the Stark girls looking back at her. The girl wore a plain leather jerkin and pants: she could almost be _like_ Brienne if it weren’t for the Stark beauty that gave her away. “I never took you for a coward.”   
  
“The weather commands me today, my lady, and it is far more strict than the lords and ladies I have served before,” said Brienne. “If we are to make it to Durran’s Point by nightfall, we had better set off as soon as possible. I’ve said my goodbyes.”   
  
Arya looked at her with a knowledge that was frightening. She was still a girl in most respects, yet she had seen so much. Arya Stark crossed the Narrow Sea twice, fought her way to Winterfell, killed the Night King. Starks were seldom girls, they were _born_ wolves.   
  
With a nod that seemed to settle Brienne’s fate, Arya gave a wry smile and watched as the knight and her new squire led their horses towards the gate. For the journey, Brienne had taken some stale bread and cuttings of mutton to tide them over. The warmth of King’s Landing was barely noticeable until they left it and braced themselves against the harsh breeze of the open road.   
  
“We will ride hard today, Karig. I will not slow my pace for you,” said Brienne before taking off at a canter.   
  
As the sun rose, they found the cold easier to keep out. The early morning frost melted and golden light leaked through the trees to warm their pinched red cheeks. Had the route been more winding, Brienne might have worried about leaving her companion too far behind. If the fool could get lost following the King’s Road in a straight line, he deserved whatever came for him.   
  
“My lady?” he called to her when the air was misty with fog and she rode beyond his sight. “You know I am not accustomed to your streets or to your journeys. We ride as fast as we can until our horses tire, and then we rest, we do not, as you say, _canter._ ”  
  
 _Wildings._ “Much as we can walk much further than we can run, horses can canter much further than they can gallop. No wonder Tormund had no sense of patience,” said Brienne, scoffing at the memory of the great giant’s sense of urgency. _That great fool would’ve hated life in the South.  
  
_ The boy glanced at her in admiration, something resembling a smile met his lips. Ahead of them, the road danced with the trees for a turn or two before continuing straight. “You Southerners are clever folk.”   
  
_Not really._ The knight wondered how much simpler life would be if all they did was live and fuck and eat. A world without politics would save an awful lot of bloodshed, and yet here she was, running home to do what was _best_ for her house.   
  
She had always dreamed of going home one day. There would be no hero’s welcome, but all she wanted was the proud smile of her father as she arrived on Tarth’s soil for the first time in years. Lord Selwyn Tarth had spent his entire life entertaining the lords and ladies of greater houses and trying to stay well clear of the Westerosi conflicts. Social advancement was no longer a concern, not since Galladon had drowned. Now, all that mattered, was preservation: of the family name, of the family reputation, of his one remaining child.   
  
When the Evenstar hosted a feast, the finest wine would be shipped in, along with the finest company. People would dance until dawn and once the music had finally finished, they would rush outside to watch the sun rise of the beaches and ladies would begin to fall asleep in the arms of their gentlemen, and Brienne would sneak off to spar with the stable boys until her father came and found her.   
  
Jaime had given her more than a knighthood. That title was not just a symbol of honour, it was her freedom. Nobody could tell a knight to put down her sword and act like a lady. Nobody could tell a knight much of anything unless they were her lord. He had given her so much more than respect.   
  
“I believe we’re almost there, Ser,” observed Karig. “See there, we approach the Bronze Gate.”

Brienne wondered how he had learned so much of the land so quickly, who had been teaching him. Many had been teaching the young to fight; she had rather proudly begun that with Lady Arya and Lady Lyanna’s help. The young ladies were very much of the mind that swordsmanship ought not be restricted to men, and Brienne had been only too happy to oblige.   
  
So far Karig had been quiet and remarkably less annoying than young folk tended to be. He had not complained too much. _He is still no squire,_ she told herself, _but he could be with the right knight._ Her heart ached for Podrick. The loyal, brave Payne who had stood at her side until his last breath, she was so very proud of the man he became.   
  
Time passed swiftly on horseback. As the sun met the horizon, they set their gaze upon the coast. _Her ticket home._ The land was barren now, no signs of life for miles around. Everyone had rallied behind one queen or the other and the rest of the kingdoms were left to fend for themselves.   
  
At the coast, hints at man’s presence could be seen: men loading barrels onto ships, captains yelling orders, horses whinnying gracelessly. Brienne had worried that the brief stretch of her journey by sea would be the greatest struggle, but she had been pleasantly surprised. 

The ships were adorned with the Greyjoy sigil. The kraken cast in iron graced the bow of each boat and she wondered if Lady Yara herself may have arrived. Word had been delivered to the Queen that following the successful reclamation of the Iron Islands, she would be headed for King’s Landing at the earliest convenience. __  
  
“I will find you a bed for the night, and in the morn, you will ride back to the Capital and confirm my transit to Lady Sansa, understood?” ordered Brienne.  
  
A man in simple armour approached them with questions. She simply explained their situation and they were invited aboard to sup with the crew.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PERHAPS TO CELEBRATE THE FACT THAT THINGS DID [OR RATHER DIDNT] HAPPEN IN 8X3 I AM AWAKE AT 4AM AND INTEND TO REMAIN CONSCIOUS UNTIL I FINISH WORK THIS AFTERNOON this adrenaline will fuel me for the rest of my days


	8. i think i'm lost without you

Only when every single barrel in the tavern had been drained did Jaime Lannister force himself out into the open and search for ale elsewhere.   
  
He had chugged his way into oblivion in a way that his little brother might have admired, but the stores had run dry and it was time to rejoin the world. _I have wallowed long enough, the time has come to forge a new beginning._ No creature could convince him that he deserved to stop grieving, but the Gods – wherever they may be – had stolen away his resources.   
  
“Ser Jaime,” called Bronn, “I feared you might have died without fulfilling your promises. Where have you been hiding all these weeks?”   
  
As he strode through the market place, a woman of great stature stepped backwards into his path. “Ser,” a deep voice grumbled as the figure turned. A wildling man, broad as a palfrey and handsome as a prince. _Of course, a wildling man would remind him of her._  
  
The chainmail that Bronn insisted on wearing rattled with each step and ground against Jaime’s skull shamelessly. The way his boots struck the cobbles like a smith at work did nothing for his head.   
  
“Bronn, I assure you there is no need to worry. If I died, I am sure Her Majesty would find a delightful castle and a number of delightful wenches to bestow upon you. Should I die, your inheritance would struggle to suffer, I assure you,” said Jaime. “A knight can grieve his brothers, both literal and in arms, can he not?” 

“I never saw nobody grieve like you’ve been,” Bronn pointed out. “The point of grieving is to be sad until you aren’t anymore, all you’re doing is getting sadder by the day. You let your wench run halfway across the world and didn’t think twice about it, did Cersei smack you around the head before you finished her or what?”   
  
“Don’t call her that!” Jaime snapped.

“I called her by her name and naught worse… and trust me I can think of worse.” 

“Wench,” Jaime ground out. “Don’t call her wench. She’s a knight of the Seven Kingdoms and she’s the reason you’re still alive.”  
  
In the weeks since Brienne’s departure, his days had remained empty and his nights emptier still. The company of those obliged to check on him had dwindled to nothingness. It had been a remarkable three days since he last saw another human face when he ran out of ale.   
  
Brienne of Tarth was everything that he imagined for the life of the man he _could_ have been. If Cersei had never been born, if she’d never poisoned the children with power, if the world hadn’t cursed him the way it chose to. She was brave and bold and she put him in his place, and he was perhaps the only man in the Seven Kingdoms who could fulfil her expectation that a man who might wed her would also beat her in combat.   
  
“Explain to me how you allowed this woman who has you so dreamy-eyed to get all the way to Tarth, miserable little shithole that it is, without ever thinking to ask her to stay.” Bronn glared at Jaime with a sense of expectation and snickered at the dumbfounded look upon the Lannister’s face.   
  
“What was I supposed to do, Bronn? Propose?” Jaime balked at the idea. She wouldn’t hesitate to stab him, whether the sword was a gift or not. Nobody in their right mind saw that ending well. If he valued his life any less however, he would happily take the risk.   
  
“You said it,” Bronn grumbled.

A woman with long auburn hair and a magnificent pair of tits stood close to them with a smile upon her face. He could practically hear the things she would say just by looking at her. _Ser Jaime, you saved us all. Aren’t you big and strong? Don’t you want a girl to look after you?_ The mere thought of it turned his stomach.   
  


The time for marriage was passed. He might wed for the sake of the Lannister name, but it wouldn’t be a _marriage._ He would fuck her if he had to and he’d love the children that she birthed, but he wouldn’t love _her_. He certainly wouldn’t spend enough time in her company to even _like_ her.   
  
“Well I’m sick of your wallowing,” said Bronn. “At least one of us is getting wed so either run off and find your darling knight of Tarth or start thinking of fine ladies of the realm to introduce me to.”   
  
There was one thing worse than meeting Oathkeeper’s sharp end: watching Bronn flirt with women. Even so, if he lost his nerve, he could simply claim it was a visit. A chance taken to see the Sapphire Isle and its many beauties before he retired to the copious greyness of Casterly Rock forever.   
  
“Fine, we leave tomorrow,” declared Jaime. “I presume you want to come and _sample_ Tarth’s luxuries?”  
  
“Now that you mention it.” The grin on the sellsword’s face was nothing short of lecherous.   
  
When he announced his intentions, the reception was mixed. The queen remained utterly baffled. King Jon had a melancholy about him. Sansa’s surprise showed a smile and Arya offered only a nod of expectation. Young Bran Stark was the strangest among them: he waited for the room to clear before he spoke, “the warrior may shield her heart most closely, but love is the greatest weapon in her arsenal, and you must advise her to be tentative in her use of it.”   
  
The crippled boy might have saved their skins a couple of times but he still managed to speak such nonsense. _If there’s one word for her love, it’s definitely tentative._ He might spend the rest of his life getting her to even like him, love was far beyond the reaches of even his best-planned efforts.   
  
The following morning, he set off with the sun overhead, Bronn at his side, and an obnoxiously large woman to chase after. _Better the devil you know,_ he thought as he set off on the magnificent Arabian he’d been given by her Majesty to get him to Tarth.

Journeys were good for thinking, and Ser Bronn of the Blackwater made any sane man long for a moment in his own head.


	9. wake up, it's no use pretending

It was Gregor Harlaw that captained the ship on which they found passage. The Greyjoys had sent their men to secure every major port in the Seven Kingdoms, one by one, until the realm was united under one ruler.   
  
Harlaw listened to her tales of the Battle for the Living and the Battle Between Queens and his admiration glowed. He laughed bawdily at her modesty, beat off the other men who fought for her attention, and brought her all the food and wine she asked for. Brienne was under no illusion that he was charmed by her chivalry, but she struggled to entertain the advances of a man so young and so small.   
  
The weather did not welcome them warmly to the Isle of Tarth. If every day had looked like this, Brienne might have been more reluctant to return. The clouds gathered overhead like threats and the sun couldn’t seem to get between them for more than a fleeting moment. Even when they made it inside, they rested at the fireside until its warmth found its way into their bones.   
  
“I thank you, Lord Harlaw, for delivering my daughter safely home to me,” said Lord Selwyn. “If there is anything I can do to ensure you a comfortable night’s rest before your voyage back to the mainland, do let me know.”   
  
By the time Harlaw and his men had returned to their ship, another day was almost over, and Brienne wanted nothing more than a good night’s sleep. Her father humoured her, though when they met to break fast, he was all the more demanding with his questions.  
  


“Father, I will tell you of my time away, but I can’t summarise five years in as many minutes. The last time I tasted a real hen’s egg is a distant memory and I beg you, let your daughter enjoy a simple luxury.” Brienne’s unironic pleading made her father smile mirthfully.   
  
The island was much as she had remembered it. Windier, though it was the season, but with the same soft horizons and the same secret places she had found as a child. On the island’s north coast, there was a cove untouched by most where she used to sit for hours with her sword and imagine another life for herself. If she had been a boy and Galladon the girl. If she had grown up to be a knight and join the Kingsguard and serve with honour.   
  
_All of it came true,_ she thought. The words were a whisper to her younger self, as she left them in the sand of that cove for a wandering and lonely girl to find.   
  
“A feast tonight, to celebrate your return home. We’ve been eating awfully well the past few weeks, my dear. A lot of celebration to be had now that order has been restored and the lives of men are safe once more,” said Selwyn.   
  
Feasts filled her with dread. Even after all these years. All the feasts she had been made to attend. She couldn’t bring herself to enjoy them. The food was magnificent and the music was wonderful and the company was charming but it dredged up memories of the frightful beast of a girl she was, and the beastly boys she was forced to entertain.   
  
“Certainly, Father,” answered a dutiful Brienne. “I’ll wear my finest clothes, courtesy of Her Majesty.”  
  
When she arrived at the dinner table in full armour, nobody was quite sure how to react. The metalwork truly was beautiful, though she found it tended to pinch in all of the wrong places compared with the comfort of the old set.   
  
“The Queen dressed you in such fine steel, Lady Brienne,” offered Lady Raena, a family friend.   
  
“I suppose that prompts the biggest announcement I bring home with me,” said Brienne. “I was knighted for my services to the realm. I am Ser Brienne of Tarth, Knight of the Seven Kingdoms.”   
  
Quiet judgment was no unfamiliar presence in Brienne’s life.  People had been scoffing at her since the day she was born and time and again, she had proved them wrong. _The smile of Father’s face casts their judgment from me like ash on the breeze._  
  
Ser Willem set himself beside her. “There are many men would be pleased to say they married the first lady knight in all of Westeros.”   
  
“Perhaps there are,” said Brienne, wrinkling her nose. “Sorry, Ser Willem, I think my father’s summoning me to him.”   
  
Feasts were games of hide and seek that lasted for hours; Ser Willem was one of her most fierce competitors. Some gave up quickly, others fought with determination for success, but most barely noticed the game inside which they were standing. She danced from guest to guest all night until Ser Willem cornered her once more and made him proposition true.   
  
_Certainly not,_ she told herself.   
  
Her father’s men still lurked like hunters waiting to pounce on her. She was far from the finest free woman, but pickings were slim on Tarth. The way they watched her reminded her of the Bloody Mummers and the urge to show them just how handy she was with a sword overwhelmed her.   
  
Oathkeeper hadn’t left her side since she arrived on Tarth. It was mainly habit. Part of her liked the attention the great blade drew though. _Finally something more noteworthy than my appearance,_ she thought, _but how long until the novelty wears off and I become the brutish bachelorette who killed the family line?  
_    
“Tell me more about your travels, my dear,” begged her father. “The bits you _want_ to talk about.”   
  
“The people I met were far more remarkable than the places I saw. I served with the great swordsmen in the Seven Kingdoms and I became trusted advisor to Sansa Stark, Wardeness of the North and the wisest woman I ever met.”   
  
Her father’s pride glowed in the firelight. Nothing filled her greater joy than the look upon his face as she regaled him with tales of the life she had led. She went on for hours until her eyes began to tire and she realised just how long she had talked.

 

“This Ser Jaime sounds a nice fellow,” remarked Lord Selwyn as she rose to leave. _He certainly was, before he let death consume his mortal being._


	10. i run my mouth like a fool

“I don’t know what I believe in anymore,” admitted Jaime. “The Old Gods, or the New, or the Lord of Light or the God of Death. Whatever it is that rules us. I say ‘fuck fate’. The Gods never gave me anything worth keeping. I’ll fight for what I want if it means facing the Gods themselves.”

 

It was a strange journey: the two of them sailed with pirates across the bay and paid more than a fair price for the privilege. Ser Bronn of the Blackwater on the prowl for a wife, Ser Jaime Lannister chasing after the women he’d already fallen for, and Quell – a man who’s only love, he claimed, was gold.   
  
Quell was a foreign man with dark skin and even darker eyes, a rather rare sight had it not been for the men the Queen brought with her from Essos. His trade was stealing, and he was good at it apparently. The great houses of Westeros had all fallen victim to his charms at least once, and Jaime saw why. That dazzling quality that some men naturally possessed lingered in the way he spoke, the way he listened to what you had to say; it was a brilliant performance to watch.   
  
 “Your woman, she knows you’re coming for her, Ser?” asked Quell. “Or do you plan a great declaration of love? The latter is ever the more entertaining, I assure you.”   
  
“She’s without a clue,” answered Jaime. “Though there will be no grand declaration, just a private admission that she can politely and respectfully decline if she wishes.”   
  
Bronn scoffed. Quell laughed. Jaime wondered what the pair thought they had to say on the matter when one was hopeless with women despite his best efforts, and the other claimed no interest at all. _Civilians loved to tell warriors how they ought to fight,_ he thought.   
  
“Polite and respectful never made it into any great ballads is all I’m saying,” Quell mused.   
The Sapphire Isle was glorious. The clouds loomed over it but even in the shadow of bad weather, it was a sight to behold. From afar, all he could spot were Evenfall’s spires and the tallest of the hills. He wondered which windows, which heights, Brienne had watched from in her youth. _All of them, at one time or another_ , he thought. _Tarth is a small island, and she was an adventurous child._ He wanted to know every grain of sand, every blade of grass, every drop of the sea, as well as she did. This was her home, and he would make it his, if she let him.   
  
Near midday they docked at the isle’s west coast, the port if ever Tarth had need of one. Traders bustled around without batting an eyelid at the strangers and Jaime was charmed by their trusting nature. Men in small boats fished at sea, while women and children sold their wares to the unfamiliar faces that arrived on their isle. Jaime paused for a young girl with some shells for sale and picked out the prettiest of the bunch. He gave her a silver stag and placed the trinket in his pocket.   
  
“Your mare, Ser,” said Bronn, handing over the reins of the horse and mounted his own horse, displeased as she was to be on unsteady ground.  
  
The ride to Evenfall was brief, though not without its challenges. Cavalry horses weren’t most pleased with steep hills or sandy plains, they preferred the clang of swords and the squelch of mud. The guards were reluctant yet kind when they spotted two men in Lannister armour outside their castle.   
  
“Just the two of you, is it?” asked the first of them. “With three hands between you, I don’t think you can cause too much harm.”   
  
“Careful, Rickard, that might be the Kingslayer you’re insulting so freely,” joked the other.   
  
An arched eyebrow and a false laugh from Jaime. There was a time and a place, and it was not now. They escorted them into the castle and to the halls of Lord Selwyn who was pleased to receive them.   
  
“And how many I help two fine looking fellows such as yourselves?” asked Lord Selwyn.   
  
“My name is Jaime Lannister, this is my companion Bronn of the Blackwater. We are friends of your daughter, Ser Brienne, and we had always endeavoured to see Tarth one day, after the war was won and such travelling could be done in leisure once more.”   
  
Lord Selwyn Tarth was a pious man. He raised his son to be just and brave and honourable, and he raised his daughters to be kind and generous and faithful.  The day a handsome knight turned up asking to speak with his daughter was the day he knew that the Gods had kept him in good faith all these years. The success Brienne had found for herself was not to be taken lightly, but the success that came of romancing was the kind he always wished for his only surviving child.   
  
“My daughter is out sparring just now,” said Selwyn. “She said she would return for luncheon if you’d like to wait. Some wine, perhaps, before she gets here. You can tell me of your journey.”   
  
Bronn told tales of their _long_ and _treacherous_ journey, and Jaime listened like a child listening to fairy tales conjured by his septa. Lord Selwyn’s attentions were focused entirely on the gentle lion his daughter was so fond of. He noticed the awkward way he carried his stump, with a burden of shame. The boyish grin that lingered on his lips longer after he’d ceased his happiness. The quietness with which he watched: never the centre of attention until he had to be. “How old were you the first time you killed a man?”   
  
“Fifteen, my lord,” confessed Jaime.  “A traitor to the house I served.”  
  
“I were twelve,” said Bronn. “he fucked a girl I took a fancy to.”   
  
Silence fell between them. Brienne bustled into the room with rosy cheeks and great gasping breaths.   
  
“Sorry I’m late, father,” said Brienne. “You didn’t tell me we had company.”  
  
Jaime hopped up at the sound of her voice and turned to face her, watching the way she glanced at him, and then again with confusion.   
  
“Tarth truly is as beautiful as you promised, Brienne,” uttered Jaime with a smirk.   
  
Brienne eased her taught look of shock into a smile. She greeted first Jaime, then Bronn, and took a seat beside the Lannister knight. Her eyes washed over the travel-wearied knights and she noted hopefully the fresh light in Jaime’s blue eyes. The dark circles were there, though faded now, and there looked to be something more in his belly than ale for the first time in weeks. _He looked well._  
  
Tomorrow, she would show him the island. Not her father’s artefacts of the gardens that Septa Roelle had unsuccessfully taught her to tend. The _real_ Tarth that only the locals knew a thing about.


	11. i was getting kind of used to being someone you loved

It was a long wait for breakfast to be prepared. She felt like an overexcited child on their name day, waiting for the festivities to begin. The waiting was unbearable, and she spent the entire morning making herself look neat and tidy. While they were in his city, she didn’t care what she looked like. On Tarth however, she felt _obliged_ to try and impress.   
  
At breakfast, there were eggs again and real bread, not just the crusts of days far past. She’d never seen Jaime quite so enthusiastic about food and she bit back a giggle at the way he shovelled eggs into his mouth so fast he almost choked on them.   
  
“Brienne, I believe you have stolen Ser Jaime away for the day, and Ser Bronn, you have some exploring of your own to do, I understand?” Lord Selwyn smiled at the three of them, so full of life, so ready to take on the world.   
  
As soon as it was respectable, Brienne excused herself and hurried down to the kitchen to ask that something be made up with some lunch for herself and Jaime, in case coming back was too great of an inconvenience.   
  
In a bag, the kitchenmaid Lysa put two pork sandwiches and a couple of scones with raspberry conserve, along with a couple of Tarth’s ripest green apples. It was no great feast, but good food had become a rarity in recent years and Brienne knew better than anyone the joys of Tarth’s fresh fruit.   
  
“Ready to leave, Ser Jaime?”  asked Brienne as she found him sat in the dining hall alone.

 

“Certainly,” he answered with a smile. “Are the horses tacked?”   
  
Brienne forgot sometimes just who he was. The Golden Boy of Casterly Rock who was raised in a castle with a horse and a sword and pretty girls to stroke his ego. There were no boys like that on Tarth: they were all dead or they grew out of it. _Thank the Gods he grew up,_ she thought.   
  
“Horses aren’t too keen on Tarth’s terrain. I told you once that I knew boats long before I knew horses, now you know why.”   
  
They set out for the South of the island first. There was a field that Brienne sparred in secretly when she was young. Jaime found the whole thing charming. _It’s like a playground,_ he had thought.   
  
Rather impressively, Jaime managed a whole three hours without a single complaint about having to walk for so long. Brienne had been generous with her rest breaks which certainly appeased him, but nevertheless, he wasn’t the pussy-footed little prince she first met.   
  
“Who did you spar with?” asked Jaime as they traipsed through the long grass and made for the cliff’s edge.   
  
“The children of lords, if I could trust them not to tell. The servants while they were still young. My brother when I was very little though I don’t remember much of that, I’ve only heard it from my father,” Brienne said.   
  


The wind began to pick up as they reached the summit. Before long, it was too strong to even attempt enjoying the view. Jaime made no remark about the wasted trip, much to Brienne’s surprise, instead he followed her wordlessly.   
  
She showed him the inns and the pubs and the smithy where she got her first sword. They bumped into Bronn in the village of Branton with a bonny blonde girl on his lap though they didn’t stop to chat. _Wasn’t it lonely,_ thought Jaime, _with nobody her own age and nobody who respected her goals regardless.  
  
_ The weather brightened as midday approached and Brienne hurried him along to the greatest place of all: her secret cove. It was nothing special to look at, but she believed he would understand its significance to her, and his soft smile proved her right. The tide was high as they unlaced their boots and revelled in the feeling of warm sand between their toes.   
  
“Porkbelly sandwich, Ser Jaime?” she offered. Her favourite spot was a smooth rock that normally rested at the shade’s edge at this time of day. Her feet were the one thing about her that, though large, could not be considered unwomanly. In sunlight, the ghastly white of her flesh shimmered and she wondered if the Gods hadn’t simply reserved the prettiness for those who saw her in bare sunlight.   
  
“Thank you, Brienne,” uttered Jaime. His tone was a little too sincere and it jarred her. _He isn’t talking about the sandwich,_ she acknowledged. “Seeing this side of you truly has been a wonderful experience.”   
  
They stayed there for a long time, until the sun had risen overhead, and they basked in the cool afternoon breeze. Jaime thought of who else she had brought here: _was there anyone at all?  
  
_ “This was Ser Brienne’s tourney grounds. It sounds daft looking back but when I only wielded a sword in secret, I would dream of the life I could have had; if I was a boy, if I was braver, if I was a Baratheon or a Tyrell or a Lannister. The duels I would win and the battles I would fight in, they were so glorious,” she admitted, eyes locked on the horizon. “I wish I could go back and tell that little girl not to lose hope, because the day is coming when a kind-hearted, brave knight gives her everything she’s ever wanted.”   
  
That night was a blood-soaked blur. He’d slept for three days afterwards and he barely remembered most of what happened. The knighting was a blur, muddied around the edges by that godforsaken wine. The first rush of wights was even harder to recall, nothing mattered apart from the one who pinned her to the ground: he would find _that_ hard to forget. The reanimation had felt endless, killing and killing until they all just dropped to the ground and he thought: _how long would they have carried on for if Arya hadn’t ended it for them?_ Him and Brienne and Podrick, pinned against the castle walls with the never-ending sea of the undead upon them.   
  
“All I did was give you the title everyone’s been using for years. You earned it,” he uttered.   
  
“I thank you all the same,” Brienne replied stoically.   
  
Things were strange between them now. Jaime was shy around her, though she couldn’t figure out why. _Has he found the wife he spoke of before I left?_ Him being here felt so right, like the person she was and the person she had become could co-exist for a little while. Ser Jaime Lannister, saviour of maidens, killer of cruel monarchs, victor of the Final War. _Who am I to hide him away from the rest of the world on this tiny island?_  
  
“Should we be heading back? It’s getting dark,” said Jaime.   
  
She threw a Tarth apple at him underhand, and bit back the chuckle as he fumbled with it.   
  
“For the walk back,” said Brienne.   
  
When they returned to Evenfall, Bronn had the blonde woman wrapped tightly around him with an announcement to make and an engagement ring to flaunt. _Now all he needed was a castle,_ thought Jaime.


	12. i'd give my body to be back again

The beaches of Tarth were damp under his feet as he led his mare to the boat. The warmth of sand against his skin was a far cry from the harsh weather that would set him out to sea, and Ser Jaime knew leaving on such dreadful waves was risky, but his heart ached as long as he stayed on this isle.

By the time Brienne marched down to make her farewells, the sails were whipping viciously in the air, any right-minded sailor would say no journey was worth such risk. She watched the ease with which he boarded his modest belongings onto the ship. _He is ready to move forward,_ she thought.   
  
“One more night would do not harm,” Bronn said. The sellsword had been eager to get back to the mainland, but not so eager as he was to keep hold of his life long enough to make an honest woman of the charming Irina. His lord would not be swayed: they would sail today no matter how the seas fought.   
  
The noble Lord Selwyn had made his farewells in the comfort of his own home. Watching the knights as they went with a hint of disappointment at the traipsing streps of the charming Lion he had so wished to see tamed. Brienne was not so brave as that: she needed the indifference of the port, and the knowledge that either of them could make a hasty departure should the need arise.

“I doubt we will meet again, Ser Brienne,” Behind the wind, his voice was almost gentle in its tone.   
  
“I am nothing short of certain, Jaime,” admitted Brienne. The wind danced around them and made sure their words never went unheard; Tarth boasted an honesty unparalleled by its neighbours. _The wind hunted out liars and cast them to the waves,_ she recalled from her youth, _and the rain washes falsehoods away like sickness.  
  
_ One of the Tarth men had agreed to sail them to the mainland, though he had seen the skies and rescinded his offer without reluctance. On the choppy waves of Shipbreaker Bay, it would be only Jaime, Bronn and their precious cargo. Chance dictated he would die before he even reached the shore, though chance had been proved wrong before.   
  
“Brienne, it has been an hour to serve at your side and under your command,” uttered Jaime with a tone of obligation that twisted her guts.   
  
“Ser Jaime, I must admit to you a secret I have been harbouring for some time now,” she began. _All he could do was laugh at her, and she’d faced his scorn a thousand times before._ “Your presence has lightened my heart these past days, as it did the many months we spent together. I wish you well and pray you find happiness in the wife you will take and the realm you will preside over. But I cannot let you go without making sure you know that I have loved you longer than I imagined possible.”  
  
Brienne dropped her gaze, to her feet where they stood firm beneath her still. _He will be kind,_ she told herself. Her heart would heal, if only he was kind in his rejection.   
  
Without a word, Jaime reached his thumb beneath her chin and tipped her face up to look upon him. Bronn and Irina had fallen silent from their jest, and they watched curiously from the bow of the ship.   
  
The way Jaime looked at her shyly was unexpected. Apologetic eyes and watery words of what it _might_ have been like in another life: that was what she had hoped for and yet he stood in a drowning silence.   
  
_Her bravery remains unparalleled,_ thought Jaime, _and I have been a coward._ As he dropped his hand back to his side, the rise and fall of his chest became uncomfortable with each breath.   
  
“Marry me,” he uttered with such timidity that his words were almost lost to the wind.   
  
He was grateful when the breeze slackened enough to ensure his words were heard. The nerve he had mustered extended only as far as to say the words once. As he watched the sapphire pools of her eyes, he wished he could lose himself forever in their loving hold.   
  
“I fear I misheard you, Ser Jaime,” Brienne mumbled.   
  
“You’re the only woman who could tame me. Take me to the sept and make an honest man of me,” he commanded. Though his words were clear, Brienne looked at him with a lingering confusion. _She doubts my affections,_ thought Jaime. “I fought for a Queen that I found rather annoying because you asked me to. I slew the only person in the Seven Kingdoms who posed a threat to you. I have loved you since I watched you fight a bear with a cedar sword and a ghastly fuchsia gown. If you were unawares, I have done you a disservice.”   
  
Brienne let a smile glide across her homely face and for the first time, it looked as though it truly belonged there. At just the wrong moment, the heavens opened up over their heads. “We must return to Evenfall, you can’t sail in such a storm.”   
  
The servants giggled at them upon their return but took their sodden cloaks dutifully to be aired. The Evenstar was far more brutal in his judgment, chuckling merrily at the way Jaime’s greying hair clung to his forehead desperately. He bid them return to their rooms and change. They were to remain until the weather had cleared, without argument.

As Jaime allowed himself to be undressed and dressed again by the young Pilter boy called Luwin, his mind struggled to settle. _She gave no answer,_ he told himself. _Perhaps she is mad at me for keeping my feelings hidden, or perhaps she is simply tired of the burden which I have become.  
  
_ For an hour, he sat at the foot of the bed in silence and wondered if he ought to have boarded the boat anyway. To have drowned at sea might have been simpler than this: Jaime Lannister had been ready to run away from the woman he loved, but she had pulled him back into her grasp with such ease.   
  
A knock at the door drew him from his considerations. Standing in the doorway was Brienne of Tarth, _his_ knightly woman. She was wearing a dress, and though it was a charming shade of coral, she looked so out of place that Jaime couldn’t hide his surprise.   
  
“I know,” mumbled Brienne. “But if it a wife you are looking for, then you are also looking for a woman. I have many years’ experience in acting like a woman, though I am far from a lady. My hesitations rest only in trapping you into something you do not want, so I propose a courting period…in which we can be sure we understand one another.”   
  
The way she looked was ghastly to him. Of course, she was still Brienne and still absolutely magnificent, but she hadn’t looked less like herself in years. Her breaths were laboured in the tight hold of a corset, she towered over him awkwardly in her small heels, her eyes had lost their glimmer behind the nervous embarrassment of dressing up as someone she was not.   
  
 “I don’t mean to offend, Brienne,” he began. “If this is what you think I want out of a marriage to you, you are sorely mistaken. If you wish to wear gowns, you are welcome, but do not play dress up because you think I am searching for a princess. I have found the woman I want to wed, and she looks most becoming in a suit of arms.”   
  
There were a couple of maids standing not far off, hiding their giggles behind their hands, and he might have had them torn to shreds if it were any other day. They were irrelevant, however.   
  
Brienne glanced down at her attire and felt shame tint her cheeks crimson. She knew she looked like nothing short of brutish in a gown. There was no hiding that fact, all she had wanted to do was _try._  
  
“You look stunning, Brienne, but more than that you look utterly miserable. Please, don’t ever try to impress me with womanly nonsense. I don’t care for your needlework, you do much better with a blade of a greater kind.” Jaime took her hand in his and squeezed, forced her to listen to him.   
  
His rooms were tidy for once, having not yet had time to make a mess of it since packing his belongings just this morning. The chambers were modest and seemly, with the colours of the forest adorning the walls, and a chaise longue that had, so far, gone unused. 

Wordlessly, he led her inside and settled on the charming ivory seat, leaving room beside him. Nervously, Brienne set herself down as far from him as the furniture would reasonably allow and folded her hands in her lap.   
  
“Ser Jaime, I fear I will prove a disappointment to you.”   
  
“I want _you,_ Brienne,” implored Jaime. “The woman who has fought the living and the dead to keep me alive. The woman who tells me when I’m being a cunt and won’t stand for it. The woman who I gave that sword to. Not some fair maiden who shies away from my touch and won’t look me in the eye.”   
  
Her gaze lifted to look at him and saw the glimmer of satisfaction in his eye. Jaime raised his hand to her cheek, brushed her temple with his thumb, she leaned her head into his gentle touch. Brienne’s hand rose to cover his, the unexpected softness of her palm met his calloused knuckles.   
  
“I’ll marry you,” Brienne declared with a quiet confidence.   
  
He wanted to draw her face to his for a kiss. _Not yet,_ he thought, _I will not force myself on her._


	13. i don't have a choice but i'd still choose you

They told nobody on that first day, for fear of tempting fate.   
  
Jaime had waited so long that hiding it was a fresh form of agony and yet he endured it. At night, he didn’t sleep but instead, thought of her until his mind ached with longing for her company and he forced himself to rest.   
  
At dawn, he rose and dressed in the finest clothes he had packed. Luwin watched him with a silent curiosity as he straightened himself out and took more care for his appearance than he had since his arrival.   
  
“Ser Jaime,” greeted Selwyn.   
  
The dining hall was lit with candles. Sunlight fought its way through a thick sheet of cloud and struggled to make its way into the room. Brienne wouldn’t break her fast until much later, most days she used the early light for sparring. The newly betrothed knight and his maiden had spent the night in the shelter of the ship and their attendance was unlikely.  So, it was just Jaime and his future father-in-law.   
  
“Lord Selwyn,” he answered.   
  
A piece of rye bread and a couple of eggs filled his gut. He watched as the old lord ate and ate until his gut pressed against the table’s edge.

“Why are you here?” asked Selwyn, crude in a manner that only the master of a house could be.   
  
 “The storm rages on still,” he answered. “I can find other arrangements for myself if I have abused your hospitality.”   
  
“Ser, I do not mean _now._ Why did you come to Tarth? What do you want with my daughter?” _A happy life,_ thought Jaime. The landed gentry of Westeros consisted of two sorts of men – the ones who survived with flattery and conniving, and the ones who were clever enough to keep their houses alive. Selwyn Tarth was a man of the latter kind.   
  
Servants scuttled around like cockroaches, nervous as ever. _Those blasted maids had ratted out their own lady._ Jaime wondered how Brienne’s father might respond to such a turn of events. Perhaps, he would be pleased.   
  
“My Lord, if I may speak freely,” Jaime began. “I find myself in love with your daughter against all odds, because the Gods decided I deserved the pain of that. Loving her is the gift I am given for the good I have done, and hiding it was the price I paid for my sins.”   
  
The constant noise of shoes against stone, of whispering through walls, of the rest of the world carrying on unaware: it stopped still and there was silence between these two men, and all around them.   
  
“I have asked her to wed me and she has agreed. Your blessing for our union would be a great gift, my Lord,” uttered Jaime, frame shrunken, voice shy.   
  
Women of the Seven Kingdoms did not choose their husbands. Some were sold, others stolen, though none went freely to the marital bed. There were no women like Brienne, only her. Men with castles and men with gold had come and bid her father let them wed the brutish maid of Tarth. Selwyn had quickly learned that his daughter would not be forced.   
  
It was Ser Humfrey Wagstaff who had been late in learning that lesson. A broken leg had deterred him against wedding such an untameable beast of a woman. It only made Jaime admire her more.   
  
“You have it,” answered Selwyn without hesitation. “I cannot pretend to understand why you wish to wed my daughter. You are the Golden Lion of House Lannister and though she is my dearest girl, Brienne is not one I would have expected you to choose. I think we both know that this marriage will do far more for House Tarth than it will for those at Casterly Rock.”   
  


“Perhaps,” Jaime conceded. “But she has done far more for me than I can ever do for her. Your daughter’s affections are the greatest gift ever bestowed upon me, and the rest of my days, I will make sure she knows her value and sees her worth.”  
  
 _Will she duel with me?_ Jaime had told himself for years now that no matter how he longed to wed Brienne, he no longer had a chance against her in hand-to-hand combat. It had been her only condition, since Ser Humphrey ordered her to be ‘womanly’ and he would hate to disappoint.  
  
Above them, a grand chandelier hung on a thin iron string. The candles spilled their firelight across the room and made dancing shadows on the walls. The splendour of it contrasted the simple stone and wood that furnished the rest of the castle. Humble though it was, Evenfall was beautiful and Jaime wondered how anyone could bring themselves to leave such a place. A year here, spending each day on the beaches and each evening by the fire, sounded like the closest thing to heaven a man might ever find. Most would die without ever knowing such modest luxury.   
  
When Selwyn noticed the admiration in his gaze, he laughed. _Another man’s gold always gives a better bite._ The grandeur of Casterly Rock might, to many, have seemed like the finest childhood one could hope for. Yet to Jaime, it was everything he dreamed of escaping.   
  
“Father,” greeted Brienne upon her return from a morning’s training. “Ser Jaime.”

“Greet your fiancée properly, girl,’ demanded her father.   
  
Brienne felt her jaw fall open and hurried to Jaime’s side in search of explanation. The two men looked at her with a love she wasn’t used to seeing so freely shown upon their faces. After a moment, Jaime took her hand in his and bid her good morning.   
  
 “Good morning.” A slice of rye bread met her lips and she busied herself with eating for a short while. The men talked and she listened as she was accustomed to doing, surprised each time Jaime glanced to her for an opinion.   
  
Years of Septa Roelle telling her that young ladies were seen and not heard. It still unnerved her slightly when she received the undivided attention of the men with whom she shared her time. Jaime did not stop of respecting her opinions, he had learned to demand they be expressed.   
  
Bronn arrived remarkably late, with a smug look upon his face and a small bulge in his pants that was impossible to ignore. Though he had tried to look presentable, there was no denying what had kept him so long in bed. Brienne of Tarth was a modest woman and she couldn’t hide the flaming blush that washed over her at the thought. _Soon such duties will be expected of me,_ she realised.   
  
They chatted for a while longer. Jaime had not let her discomfort go unnoticed. He excused himself as quickly as was permissible and bid her to join him. Never would his wife be forced to conceal her feelings in his presence. He promised himself that silently.


	14. i'll love you more so don't be scared

Rain continued to fall. Bronn was wed in a small ceremony, simply to get the matter over with. The local people got used to seeing the Lannister knight and his whoremongering squire around the island. Lord Selwyn grew accustomed to seeing a smile upon his daughter’s face. Perhaps if she’d been happier all these years, her suitors might have found her more attractive.  
  
Brienne and Jaime spent almost every waking moment together. Most people would be sick of one another after that but after almost a year on the road - a year spent bickering and fighting and shitting and trying not to die – a few weeks seemed like bliss. They would spar in the early mornings and they would walk in the afternoons. At meals, Lord Selwyn often resorted to making idle conversation with Bronn, rather than watching the pair moon at each other hopelessly. Of course, he was pleased, but also a little nauseated.

“Who do you want to be there?” asked Jaime as they walked through Evenfall village on afternoon. “We should really send notice if we want to be wed before the solstice.”  
  
“I’d like Lady Sansa and Lady Arya to be there, though they’d be hard pressed to get away from their responsibilities at court. I don’t mind who else, most of our friends are dead.” Brienne didn’t seem terribly sad, and yet Jaime knew who was on her mind. Podrick would’ve been so proud to watch her find the love he’d always believed her worthy of. He’d died to give her a chance at finding that.

The men of Tarth looked at Brienne differently now. They were caught awkwardly between admiration for her swordsmanship, and bafflement at her capture of a man so blatantly above her. Young girls sniggered at her when she passed and whispered their desires for the Lannister lion who so clearly needed saving.

“I’ll send word once the storm dies. It would only take a week for them to get here if they travelled without a company. The two of them with Lord Gendry and Lord Stevan, they’d make it here without too much trouble I expect, now the snows have melted, and the roads are safe.”  
  
“Is there nobody you would invite?” asked Brienne.  
  
_Everyone I love is either dead or on this island already,_ he told himself. Part of him was angry that Tyrion wasn’t alive to see this day: the imp had always longer to see his brother in love. Tyrion Lannister would’ve whored his way through the entirety of Tarth, and dried out their cellars, no matter how brief his stay.  
  
“No, the only one I need there is you,” he answered.  
  
 Evenfall Hall stood grand. It was the only great building for miles around and it never failed to draw the eye. Its high turrets and vast grounds created an image akin to that of a bedtime story. Princes and princesses grew up in castles like these, and in the simplicity of their lives, it was the only luxury they clung to with any sense of determination. Home was all they had to rely on, and it was a sight to behold.  
  
“Join me in the North Hall, I want to show you something.” The walk through the castle grounds was brisk, as they slipped past servants and giggled like teenagers. “This is where I want it to be.”  
  
The North Hall was smaller than the South. It was rarely used. In fact, Jaime had been in the castle for over a week and had yet to enter the room. Light spilled through great windows to show the disarray which had consumed the hall. It looked abandoned, and he wondered what it meant to her. 

“Why here?” asked Jaime.  
  
“When I was very young, I used to hide from Septa Roelle in this room. I’d dream of the things I would do once I was older and stronger. I used to imagine this was the throne room of the Red Keep. I’d imagine I was knighted by the King. I’d replay the same day over and over again, adding little details as I went. What I would wear, who would be there, what would be said.” Brienne’s eyes fell closed as she spoke, and a melancholic ease graced her face. “This room harboured so many dreams for so many years. Marriage wasn’t something I ever even dreamed of, from as young as I can remember, I knew no man would ever want to marry me and I accepted it. This is the most special place aside from my cove, and a beach wedding doesn’t feel right for us.”  
  
There was a fireplace in the opposing wall, and lit, it would open the room to look glorious. Dusty wooden tables lined the perimeter of the room, set for a small feast. A little bunting and some bouquets would go a long way. _Definitely something to work with_ , thought Jaime, _though if extravagance was any measure, it would be a ceremony unfit for Brienne._  
  
“I’d marry you in a stable if it was what you desired,” he stated. “Though if that is the case, please let me know so I can wear appropriate boots for the occasion.”  
  
Brienne laughed at him, eyes filled with love. Her hand reached for his and their fingers were locked together. She had stopped wearing gloves so she could steal his warmth when her hands met a chill, though of course, her excuse was that Tarth left her with no need of winter dress.  
  
Since they arrived, he had worn his golden hand less and less. At first, he never took it over. Now, Brienne only ever saw it when they were leaving the castle, and he did it mostly for the sake of the strangers who would stare.  
  
“I’m not sure how Lady Sansa would feel about attending any ceremony in a stable,” reasoned Brienne. She stepped in front of him so they were facing one another and ran her hand down from his shoulder to his stump. _Still not entirely at ease,_ she took note. The muscles there tensed under her touch, even through the cotton of his shirt.  
  
Her heart longed for closeness to him. She wanted to know every thought inside of his head, to never doubt that they were in complete agreement, to know him as she knew herself. _There would be nothing between them once they wed_ , she thought with her eyes locked onto him, _and there is too much to look forward to waste time being scared._  
  
“Brienne, may I-” he paused nervously, let his gaze fall to her lips and back again.  
  
It was brief. Simple. Just as he had intended it to be. No terrifying passion, no daunting implications, just a kiss. Tender and gentle and kind. Her lips curled up into a smile, and she bridged the narrow gap between them. She lingered against him, holding herself against him for a moment that she held onto desperately.  
  
_She doesn’t seem frightened,_ Jaime told himself with relief.


	15. i'll use you as a focal point, so i don't lose sight of what i want

The winds calmed themselves. Glorious sunshine spilled down onto the isle’s sands. This was the Tarth he had always imagined. Stories of swimming in the Narrow Sea and training with Ser Goodwin until nightfall: he could imagine them better in the warm breeze of spring.   
  
Ravens were hard to come by. So many had fallen to winter, the rest taken victim of the war. Tarth still possessed half a dozen though only a couple of them were entirely reliable in their service.   
  
Jaime sent the letter with the dawn, watching after the bird until it was nothing more than a speck on the horizon. The Stark girls would come if they received the message, he had no doubt.   
  
“We’ll give them a fortnight,” said Jaime. “If we haven’t heard by then, we’ll wed without them here.”   
  
On the tenth morning, a ship came in and on it were the Stark sisters. They came with great chests filled with clothes and with all the well-wishes of the capital.   
  
Brienne stood rigid in the embrace of her once liege-lady. The physicality was unexpected, and her hand patted Sansa’s shoulder awkwardly before the girl released her. Arya offered up a simple nod and a mumbled congratulations to the couple.   
  
“Come, I will show you up to the castle and you can settle in before we sup. My father is rather excited to receive you,” uttered Brienne.   
  
The local people watched in awe of the great Lady Sansa with her luxurious pelts and her graceful steps. Lady Arya elicited a sense of fearful admiration, if such a thing existed, and Jaime couldn’t help but wonder if she hated the way they shied away from her.   
  
Evenfall Hall was a humble keep. It was undeserving of such guests and yet, here they stood in the courtyard, surveying the grounds inch by inch. Lord Selwyn was a gracious host and met them in the entrance hall, dumbstruck by the auburn beauty of Winterfell and her warrior sister.   
  
“Ser Brienne, might you join me in my chambers,” requested Sansa as they all parted to change for dinner.   
  
Her protector followed after her dutifully and it was hard to believe how much both of their lives had changed these past weeks. Brienne was no longer in her service, and yet her loyalty remained.   
  
“What can I do for you, milady?” asked Brienne as they turned into the Wildwood suite and closed the door behind them.

“If I asked you to return to my service, would you?” _Answer carefully, Brienne.  
  
_ The relationship between them had changed ever so quickly. Sansa no longer had any claim to Brienne and there was no obligation, except in her heart, for Tarth’s knight. Her eyes were clouded with confusion and surprise at the question.   
  
“Milady, why would you ask that of me? You released me from my vow, you are under the protection of many greater knights than I.” Brienne didn’t _want_ to say no. Nothing frightened her more than the prospect of exchanging one oath for another, and yet her heart could not betray Jaime, not even in the name of loyalty.   
  
“Would you, Brienne?”   
  
“I would not, milady. I would die for you and kill for you and fight a dozen wars for you if you asked. But returning to your side would mean betraying a vow, and I could not do that… to him or to me, not even for you, Lady Sansa.” She dropped her eyes to the floor with the burden of shame she felt and longed for Jaime’s reassurance in that moment.

Sansa watched her and wondered how she had gone so long without making her feelings known. It had been blatant since Ser Jaime returned to Winterfell, and clearly they were happy now. Had she stopped herself from seeking love for the sake on an oath? Had Sansa let herself get in the way of the happiness of a woman who deserved so much more than most?   
  
“It pleases me to hear you say this. You have always been more loyal to others than to yourself, Brienne, and if this marriage is what you want then I am blessed to be here to witness it. The honour with which you served me has earned you good fortune, and the Gods have blessed you as you deserved all these years,” said Sansa with a watery smile.

They continued to talk as old friends while Sansa changed. She wore a lilac gown and braided her hair straight down her back. Brienne wondered when the little lady had become such a woman.   
  
“Are you excited for tomorrow then?” Sansa chattered on like an overexcited child, enthralled with the idea of weddings still after all these years.   
  
“Honestly? I’m excited for it to be over. I want to _be_ married to Jaime, the process of marrying him however is rather too daunting to consider. Being the centre of _anybody’s_ attention is ghastly enough to think of, but an entire room? I can’t wait to be away from all those eyes again.”   
  
“Lady Brienne!” Sansa barked teasingly. _She was terrified of all of it,_ Sansa knew, _but most of all, what would come of being alone with her husband._ “Truly, Brienne, I am not one to reassure you that it will be pleasant. I  have known nothing of the carnal pleasures. Ser Jaime is a kind man, and you have trusted him with everything up until this moment, have you not?”   
  


A young maid knocked on the door and told them that the rest of the house were waiting on them for supper. Lady Sansa thanked her and rose to leave, beginning the short walk to the dining hall.   
  
“It is not _his_ actions I fear, my lady,” admitted Brienne as they made their way to join the men.   
  
The supper was divine. Nothing short of a feast worthy of the girl who killed the Night King and her sister. They ate fresh lamb shank and potatoes doused in butter and herbs. A man stood in the corner playing his lyre as they chattered on all night, until the moon rose in the sky and Jaime made his excuses.   
  
Few traditions remained. The keeping of such pointless habits could be expensive, but those that were remained felt, in a way, sacred. They would not see one another again before the altar. The Gods would reacquaint their souls and they would be wed, but under moonlight, they must estrange themselves so their hearts could yearn.  
  
“In the morning, my darling, we will be wed,” whispered Jaime as he bid Brienne goodnight and pressed a kiss to her cheek, smirking at the way she drew back from his ticklish whiskers.    
  
The music went on and the fruit kept coming but Brienne knew she needed to rest. Tomorrow would be a long day and she would tire herself with the emotion of it all, and so she retired to her chambers to dream of the beginning that would commence at noon. _I will cease to be the self I know now, a new woman will take my place in this world and she will stay at his side for all her years._  
  



	16. show me the way again

When Septa Roelle had told her of what happened on the wedding night, she had been glad to know that no man would come close to her.   
  
_His disgust will break my heart in two,_ thought Brienne as she unlaced her armour, her boots, her cloak and set them upon a stand. Jaime sat at the foot of the bed watching, enamoured with the very sight of her. _How do I prove myself worthy of her?_ He asked the Gods and as always, they remained silent.   
  
The sunlight was already seeping into the room as Brienne turned, still mostly dressed, to look at her husband. Jaime came and stood over him, brushing his fingertips against her cheek softly. “I never thought I’d see you, of all people, nervous,” Jaime said in a soft tone, “and it unnerves me. You are the most steadfast hold in my life, and here you quiver like a leaf.”   
  
She was not a woman you’d imagine being shy of men. Jaime had no doubts at all that if he did something she didn’t like, the one and only hand that touched her would be cast aside as scrap. _Did she fear what I would do?_ He could not ask her. She would blush and shake her head and tell him the truth which was likely far worse. When her breathing evened out, he pulled her gently to stand and kissed her softly.   
  
The bride pressed herself into his arms wantonly and kissed him with demanding strength. It was toothy and imperfect and if felt like a duel between them in a funny sort of way. The eager way she clung to him warmed every inch of Jaime’s being, and he held out hope that she would not shy away from him.   
  
“Let me take you to bed, Brienne,” he begged quietly against her lips.   
  
For a moment, she stiffened, drew back from him half an inch, met his gaze with worry. Bravely as the warrior she was, she took two great strides towards the foot of the bed and with a broad, forced smile, reached out her hand to draw him close again.   
  
He moved slowly, like a hunter trying not to frighten a skittish deer. They sat at the bed’s edge, kissing eagerly for longer than he believed possible. He wouldn’t push her, and only when she reached for the ties of his chest plate did he draw back and speed up the process.   
  
Her in a cotton undershirt and pants. He in only a loose pair of trousers, bare from the waist up. She shivered under his touch, even against her forearm, as though there was a chill in his fingers.   
  
“You know I’m clueless to what happens now, but I trust you and I want you,” Brienne reassured, searching for a little confidence and tearing her shirt over her head before she could be scared.   
  
His eyes fell to her torso and grew wide as saucers. Her body was not an unseen wonder, he had seen her bare at Harrenhal and had caught glimpses in the baths since. The taught muscles were the first thing that one noticed: she was built like the side of a house and there was no denying it. But her skin was soft and milky and her breasts were perky with their smallness.   
  
_Of course, he’s disgusted,_ thought Brienne and drew back slightly from him though the bed allowed little space. His gaze rose to meet hers with a warmth she didn’t recognise: hot, untampered desire.  
  
Their explorations of each other was slow and considerate. They learned every inch of one another, setting it into their respective memories. By the time they were fully naked with one another, the sun was high in the sky and the rest of the castle was sleeping, aside from the servants who were probably rising to their work.  

“Jaime,” she pleaded as his fingers brushed the soft skin of her thighs.   
  
A dutiful nod and a weak smile met his face as he straddled her, brushing a stray hair behind her ear before reaching his hand between them. His fingers brushed through the blonde thicket of hair between her thighs for a moment, then slid into her warmth.   
  
If her gentle gasp was not enough to reassure him, the way she dug her nails into his shoulder was.   
  
She was remarkably ready for him and he was tempted to ask how long she’d been waiting for this night. _Another time,_ he told himself. _  
  
_Brienne rode his fingers wantonly until she met her climax. She pulled him towards her and kissed all her desires onto his lips, whispering them with real words. His cock, hard and bouncing, had been pressed against her thigh for longer than he cared to think about, and he tentatively lined it up against her.  
  
“This may hurt,” mumbled Jaime apologetically. _You couldn’t hurt me,_ she thought. __  
  
Gently, he pressed himself into her, an inch at a time, watching her face for signs of suffering as he focused all his energy on not leaving her in want now, of proving himself an overexcited little boy with no control over his own body.  
  
He buried himself to the hilt and found the spot inside of her that sent a groan reverberating through her entire being. Her moans were guttural and breathy and nothing like he had imagined. She dug her fingernails into his back in full knowledge that she would leave marks: there was no lingering soreness from the war and she had never been more grateful to be able to touch him how she wished.   
  
Jaime couldn’t hold out very long. He had longed for the feeling of her so long that his body wasn’t up for the challenge of waiting. With his hand against her hardened nub, rubbing and pinching her towards another climax, he thrust into her desperately as she let out of a long moan and emptied himself inside of her.   
  
When they were spent, there was no sound but the heavy, hot breaths of the pair. Brienne shut and opened her eyes, sights set on this man: her husband. Beneath the grounding weight of him, she wondered how she’d ever slept beyond his hold before. It would not be long before the maids came, and yet she made no move to dress herself. Jaime’s arms held her tight in his embrace, and she had no desire to move.   
  
“And now our lives commence,” uttered Jaime. His words spilled into the thick, damp air and she became aware of the chill that loomed around them now. She pulled herself closer, head tucked into his shoulder, and closed her eyes to dream of nights like these.


End file.
